*Warning there is swearing in this story
October 15th, 2012
Days can be pretty simple in law enforcement on a Sunday. One of the reasons someone becomes a cop is for the adrenaline rush you get when you hunt the bad guy/girl. But once you get in this field, you quickly realize that the job is about 90 percent boredom, 9 percent balls-to-wall excitement, and then 1 percent standing around waiting for the detectives to arrive.
This particular Sunday was no different. The day was slow. It wasn't just one of those drawn-out days that seemed never-ending. It was one of those, look at the clock and realize that only 15 minutes had passed since the last time you looked at it; the small clock hand seems to be locked on the current hour as the second hand just drags across the face of the clock like nails on a chalkboard. It's a day you try to help push the seconds along.
"Damn, I just wanna go home," I said to my partner as we sat side-by-side in our respective police cars.
That's how we cop to conduct a conference. One car faces one way, and the other one faces the other so we can see each other face-to-face while we sit in our vehicles. As casual observers drive or walk by, they gawk at us, wondering what we devour. The exciting things we are planning. Who are we going to go after? What is on our agenda?
"I have to shit bad," my partner retorted, "I think someone put something in my food when I was on lunch.
"That's why I don't go there, man. I think Bobby arrested the cook," I said.
"I think I better go now and get over with. I don't think I gonna make it," stating as he was grinding his teeth.
"Just go lights and sirens; I mean, it is an emergency; you're about to shit your pants!" I exclaimed, jokingly, of course.
The thing with law enforcement is you better not wait for anything because the longer you wait, the faster the shit hits the fan; no pun intended here.
[BEEP]
The alert tones go off on our radio. A loud shrieking tone that can rattle anyone. When you hear it, you know the dispatcher is not about to say anything good. In moments like that, you can only muster one word out of your mouth, and it's a collective "f**k."
"Units, we just had a stabbing at the ballparks, 23 [hold on] for more information," the dispatcher blurts out.
"You should have shit when you had the chance," I said, laughing as I activated my police lights.
"DAMN!" is all I heard my partner say as I turned on my blaring sirens, indicating that shit, (again) no pun intended, just got real.
I begin to plot my own arrival. What route should I take, and what kind of precautions should I start to plan.
"Come on, Deanna, get me more information," I shout out in my unwillingness to wait on my dispatcher.
"Three subjects," the dispatcher begins, "running east from the fields, one with a gun and another with a knife," she proceeds to continue with further information. Still, I'm in the area and have heard everything I needed to know about "running east."
I shut off my patrol siren because I did not want to scare the suspects in another direction. I knew I would come across at least one of them. I drive back and forth on the main road like a shark sensing blood in the water. I knew they were close, but how close?
"Shit, that guy just jumped the wall," I said out loud as I passed an office building.
I was on the other side of the road, and I knew if I went further down to make a U-turn and went back, I would lose them. So, I decided I would make a stand right then and there.
I place my patrol car in park in the middle of the northbound lanes. The momentum of my car causes it to go into a sliding stop. I exited my car while the wheels were still turning and began pursuing.
"Woe, woe," I yell at the car traveling in the opposite direction.
I place my right hand out as I brace for the impact of the bumper or, at the very least, a surf ride on the hood. The driver of the car slams on the brakes. The loud screeching of the tires on the pavement indeed alerted the bad guy I was in the area. I tip-toed past the front bumper. My eyes were still fixed on the area where I had last seen the suspect. My knees taking on paint transfer from the car. One traffic lane down, one traffic lane to go.
I take my eyes off my suspect for a minute to see the other car traveling towards me. I do my best to make eye conduct with the driver behind the steering wheel as he approaches me in his large car while I do the ballet into his travel lane. I know he will stop, so I turn my eyes back towards the bad guy, scanning the area on the lookout for him.
He sees me! I see him!
He stares at me as I run towards him like a raging bull ready to strike. I ran in between the buildings until I confronted the man who jumped the wall. He knows I know it's him. He is trying to think about his next move. My move is already made; I won't stop until he gets on the ground. I charge hard at him and begin to draw my gun from my holster. As I raise the barrel at him, I realize my momentum has taken me closer to him than I had wanted to be. I extended my right arm out and pushed him to the ground; simultaneously, I reversed my forward momentum and held my gun on him until the cavalry arrived.
"STAY DOWN!" I shout, "Don't even think about moving!"
My suspect doesn't move. He buries his face in the grass. My eyes are fixated on my subject and the 8-foot wall in case one of his friends comes over welding the gun, attempting to free his friend. What I didn't see was a good Samaritan running up behind me. My peripheral vision caught his shadow, but it was too late by then.
The good Samaritan jumps on my bad guy's back.
"You don't do that!" He shouts.
"Sir, sir," I yell, "get off of him now!"
He doesn't listen to me, forcing me to holster my weapon and move into the danger zone. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him off. His body flung backward onto the grass.
"You asshole!" He shouts at me.
I can only shake my head in amazement. And I thought it was just another easy Sunday.
1,154 words
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